


habits

by amuk



Category: ACCA13区監察課 | ACCA 13-ku Kansatsuka
Genre: Bonding, Families of Choice, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 17:12:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12462228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amuk/pseuds/amuk
Summary: Some habits were harder to kill than others. He still had a file of unsent reports, carefully gathered news for a job he no longer had.  Even this question was just him gathering information. --Nino, Lotta, Jean





	habits

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: because it is always the smallest things that are the most important
> 
> I hate this fic so much—I’ve rewritten it for a whole month and it just won’t work. I love these siblings so much (Nino is their big brother and you can pry that out of my cold, dead hands)

 

“You’re finally home!” Lotta greeted him, smiling broadly as he entered the apartment. Her ponytail swished behind her as she swirled in her apron. “And just in time for the picnic.”

 

Nino blinked at the greeting, feeling a little out of place, out of sorts. Lotta’s smile was too bright, too welcoming. It was like he had just left for a day and not months on end. Almost timidly, he took off his shoes and set them gingerly next to hers.

 

“Sorry I’ve been gone so long,” he apologized awkwardly, setting his helmet down on the dining table. Jean barely looked up from his newspaper but Nino noticed the slight change of expression, the faint smile that said everything Jean couldn’t.

 

He was both too easy and impossible to read.

 

“It’s fine! How was your trip?” Lotta asked, waving away his apologies. She hummed slightly as she danced around the kitchen, quickly tossing together sandwiches. After a moment, she paused and glared at him. “Leave a note next time! I was worried.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.” She stuck her tongue out and he chuckled, at ease now. “It was a good journey.”

 

Lotta sharply turned to look at him, almost examining him as she considered his words. This was where the real difference stood between the siblings—Jean, Nino was certain, had taken him at face value and just accepted his words. “That’s good.”

 

“I promise to leave a note next time.” He entered the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves to help before she shooed him away from the food. “What should I do?”

 

“Pass me a bread knife,” Lotta ordered before peering into her picnic basket. Leaning against the kitchen table, she frowned as she dug through its contents. “Hmmm…I haven’t packed any jams yet.”

 

“I’ll get that. Who’s coming?” Nino asked as he rifled through the cutlery drawer. They owned a few steak knives, surprisingly enough. He’d thought they’d have no use for it, but then again, Jean wasn’t quite as bread crazy as his sister.

 

“Schwann and Maggie are coming for a visit—Maggie really wants to buy bread,” Lotta explained, grinning broadly. “I almost think he loves bread more than Jean likes his cigarettes.”

 

Jean snorted softly, a clear indication of _not possible_.

 

“Sounds like a family picnic.” Nino handed Lotta the knives. It seemed one good thing came out of the revolution, judging by the new family pictures hanging on the walls. “Are you sure I should come?”

 

“Of course!” Lotta smiled brightly. “You’re family too.”

 

 _Family_ , he almost repeated, the word sticking on his tongue like the overly sweet tea Lotta liked. Despite the betrayal, the lies, everything, she still said it.

 

He could live his entire life with the Otus siblings and they’d still manage to surprise him.

 

“What else should I grab?” Nino asked, changing the topic.

 

“Hmm…” Lotta thankfully didn’t notice and counted things off on her fingers. “I’ve got sandwiches, knives, plates—so jams, napkins, forks, paper cups, some of those Famisu fruits so we can finally finish them off.” She gestured for her last point at the cardboard box in the corner, huge fruit spilling out of it.

 

Obediently, he turned back to the cupboards. Over the years, he had memorized the contents of each shelf. Napkins were in the left most one, her favourite jams in the middle drawer under the sink. The familiarity of it all enveloped him.

 

He had spent too much time here. It was a classical mistake, the observer joining the observed.

 

“Jean, where’s that extra loaf I asked you to get?” Lotta turned to her brother, immediately pouting when she realized he was still sitting on the kitchen table, reading a newspaper. “We have to leave soon, go get it.”

 

“It’s already in the bag,” Jean replied, gesturing at the door. Nino stifled a laugh.

 

Lotta pouted again. “Then help out a little! Even Schwann knows that much.”

 

“You might be asking too much,” Nino muttered, ignoring the annoyed look Jean shot his way.   

 

“Will these do?” Nino asked aloud, holding out three jars of jam and she nodded happily. As he handed them to her, he asked, “How is the royal family?”

 

“Schwann’s a lot shyer than I thought—he really likes to pretend Maggie’s doing all the nice things when it’s really him.” Lotta giggled. “Like when he bought me a new hat. Oh, and when  Auntie joined us once for lunch. He’s the one who suggested it to her. As for grandfather…” Lotta bit her lip, a troubled look on her face. “Grandfather’s looking better.

 

Nino nodded slowly. “He was sick last month, right?”

 

Lotta blinked in surprise. “How’d you know that?”

 

He looked away. Some habits were harder to kill than others. He still had a file of unsent reports, carefully gathered news for a job he no longer had.  

 

Even this question was just him gathering information.

 

“Just…heard things.”

 

Lotta cocked her head, not quite understanding. “I think he’s recovered almost. Grandfather’s inviting me to have cake next week, and he can’t eat that if he’s still sick.”

 

“It must be tiring, traveling to the castle and back. Why don’t you just live there?”

 

Lotta grinned and gestured at her brother. “He wouldn’t survive without me. Besides, it’s a little too big for me and this is home.”

 

Home. Nino smiled softly. It was just like Lotta to discard her heritage for such an abstract concept.

 

“That reminds me, grandfather showed me the pictures you’ve been sending him.” Lotta leaned forward, excitement in her voice. “There are so many of them!”

 

“I never noticed,” Jean mumbled as he opened his cigarette case. There was a tinge of shock, of embarrassment colouring his voice. “There were so many close ups.”

 

“You hardly noticed you were the center of a revolution,” Lotta responded, shaking her knife at her brother. “Don’t sulk over this.”

 

Nino stifled a laugh. Definitely sulking, Jean played with his cigarette case a little longer before finally selecting a stick.

 

“You weren’t supposed to notice,” Nino consoled, handing Lotta napkins and forks. “I had years of practice.”

 

Jean gave him a flat stare before lighting his cigarette.

 

“You got so many when Jean was little!” Lotta added. “But you couldn’t have been much older than he was—were you always good at taking photos?”

 

“Not really, my dad took most of them.” Nino paused, hesitating before adding, “It also helps that I’m ten years older than Jean.”

 

The silence that came after was expected. Lotta dropped her knife and it hit the counter with a twack. Her fingers fumbled as she tried to pick it up again. “What?”

 

Behind him, Nino could hear a cough. Jean’s cigarette hung limply on his lips, a testament to how much this shocked him.

 

“Ten years?” Lotta blinked rapidly, still processing it. Nino carefully took the knife out of her hands before she could cut herself. He stationed himself next to the picnic basket, carefully storing the fruit into the wooden relic.

 

“Approximately.” He kept his hands busy to keep the nervousness from his voice. Maybe they hadn’t really processed before just what it meant to have him spy on them all these years.

 

“You did highschool twice?” Jean asked this time, recovering quicker than his sister. “Why weren’t your grades better?”

 

Nino stared, blindsided by the atypical question. “I had to relearn most of it.”

 

Snapping out of it, Lotta clapped her hands. “Wait, you knew Mom and Dad, right?”

 

“At a distance…” His hands reached up to grab his camera, only to clutch empty air. It was strange, he could still feel the weight of the viewfinder, the cold metal under his fingers. Even now, he had an urge to take a picture, to capture their expressions.

 

Old habits die slowly, after all.

 

“Could you tell me what they were like?” Lotta asked excitedly. “Ohh, you must have known my brother when he was really little, right? Any funny stories?”

 

Jean’s eyes widened and he frowned at Nino. “Nothing too bad.”

 

“I’ll try,” Nino answered weakly, not sure which sibling would be more annoying to appease.

 

“You’re coming on our picnic, right?” Lotta asked Nino again. “You can tell us then!”

 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea—”

 

“Telling the stories or coming to the picnic?”

 

“Huh?” Nino turned to stare at Lotta. Her tone had changed, the soft amusement from before gone.

 

“You aren’t planning on coming to the picnic,” she stated, point blank. Jean looked up from the table, not so much curious as anticipating. Waiting.

 

“I…” Nino swallowed, and really, Lotta wasn’t supposed to be that observant. Maybe Jean could be, on his best days, but not Lotta.

 

She had never seen through his evasions before.

 

“How’d you guess?” He went for the truth this time, giving up.

 

“You’re still wearing your gloves,” she pointed out.

 

He looked down, almost surprised to see the leather covering his hands. “I’ll take them off.”

 

“Good.” She didn’t hesitate before adding, “And you’ll come visit more often?”

 

Her eyes didn’t blink once as she stared at him, just bored into his, demanding honesty. There was something commanding about her presence. Jean, it was better that Jean wasn’t king, he just didn’t care enough. But Lotta, she would have made a good queen. She could have been a _great_ queen. Nino’s heart ached from the what ifs. His father, their parents, the years of lies, the life they could have had.

 

Years ago, this path had been set on a dark night. A promise made in the dead of night, a princess in need of help, a small happiness to protect.

 

 _I’m doing this for my dad, not for you, not for the king, not for the country_ , he had declared.

 

“I will,” he promised. Downstairs, a motorcycle waited for him, a tank full of gas. The journeys he took before, the months he spent away, they had taught him one small, important lesson.

 

“Good.” She turned back to her preparations. “And not just for breakfast this time.”

 

As he watched Lotta stuff napkins into the basket, as he witnessed Jean decide between two identical sticks of cigarettes, Nino let out an amused sigh.

 

At some point it had all changed. It was for Jean, it was for Lotta, it was for himself. So he could be close to them, so he could soak up this small warmth the offered.

 

No wonder the knight had smiled so knowingly.

 

“Ready?” Jean asked as Lotta triumphantly forced shut the hamper.  They both looked at him expectedly.

 

Home.

 

Perhaps he found one of his own after all.


End file.
